It is a gorgeous brocaded bootidar number that she had chosen rather carelessly. It now only partially conceals her, leaving the back of the matching choli and the delicate skin on her waist exposed to the gaze of the viewer. The white flowers on her ample bun are still fresh, which means that outside the threshold of her room the rendezvous is still on and she is merely stealing a few moments to herself before she has to return to the party.
The dark, velvety interiors of her chamber are soothing to her. A painting hangs on the surreal wall to the right, and an embellished cupboard with folk art sculptures to the left adds balance to the composition. The bed she is on is an unmade one, the bedclothes painted unassuming pastel tones in order to bring forth the sumptuously clad subject. Amidst the chaos of the assembly outside, these few moments with her book constitute the introvert’s bliss.
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